


How to Feed Your Monster

by softsylvie



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: 505 is best fluffy son, 505 is everyone's big fluffy blue pupper, ALL THE FLUFF, Flug is best bag dad, MORE FLUFF I SAY, because flug needs more happy fluff in his life, i wanted to write sap i apologize for nothing, look they're cinnamon rolls okay, mad scientist and creation fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsylvie/pseuds/softsylvie
Summary: When Flug finally lands himself a chance for a decent night's sleep, it's met with an interruption that brings a few memories along with it.I'll level with you.  It's fluff.  ALL THE FLUFF.





	How to Feed Your Monster

It wasn’t often Flug got to bed at a decent hour. In fact, he could count the number of times he’d managed that in the past year on one hand. Black Hat kept his company and the manor on what Flug’s father would have called a Swiss watch; despite the aches, despite the skirl of axe blades on the grindstone (sometimes literally), the trains ran on time. At Black Hat Inc., the trains ran on time and you didn’t question it. So Flug worked on a schedule that whittled him down, and he worked on a steady diet of coffee, diet Coke, and the occasional fare brought to him by 505. 

Tonight was a rare occasion. 

Flug had finished up the schematics for the time-delay EMP grenades he’d been working on for the past two days, full stop. The hardest part had been finding a way to compromise between size and accommodation. Specifically, the size that would host both an electrolytic capacitor worth Flug’s trouble as well as a lengthened striker spring. Black Hat had already complained that the last prototype was too large, too cumbersome. Customers wanted things _sleek_ and just a _smidge_ expedient and find a way to make it work before you win a free ticket to the _screaming fire dimension, **Flug.**_

“Oh, it’s just as terrible as it sounds,” Black Hat had assured him with a cruel grin when Flug had dared to ask. “Sure, you burn alive and all that, but the worst part is it’s not even those wretched _souls_ making all the racket.”

The scientist had paused, terrified to trek this particular conversation much further, but so damnably curious. “So then… why is it called…?”

“The _fire._ The fire _literally_ screams at you, Flug. All the time, for no bloody reason.”

“Why...?” 

“No one can figure out _why,_ it just _does._ ”

_Why. Why did I even ask?_

Whatever, at least that stupid draft was done. 

If he could jump on an early start the next morning, he knew he’d have the first prototype ready and tested before noon. Maybe even by noon, he’d have the first of an actual finished product. This was a day ahead of schedule, something not even Black Hat could object to, screaming fire or not. 

He chanced a look at his alarm clock as he trudged into his room, segmented green numerals bleary through goggles and exhaustion. A quarter to midnight. All things considered, he’d made some good time and _deserved_ a good night’s rest.

So Flug slid right out of his grimy coat. He kicked off his sneakers, delighting in the percussive thuds they made as they struck the wall. He pulled on blue airplane jammies, eyed his near dusty twin bed hugging the left wall, and damn it, he pronounced it a done deal as he slid beneath the blankets. It was such an alien feeling to him, something naughty, something indulgent, almost… wrong. This part of the house wasn’t one he saw very often.

At least he got a weak chuckle out of spying his old poster tacked to the wall. 

_LOST AN ELECTRON. YOU REALLY NEED TO KEEP AN ION THEM._

Yes, Flug would admit to being a bit of a buff on these things. A bit of a guilty pleasure, one of the little things he had to hold onto if he wanted to keep his voice even and resist the urge to gnaw on his fingers through his gloves. If not for the threats of gruesome murder that he knew better than to test, Flug might have once felt inclined to toss a few at Black Hat.

Drawing a deep breath of sorely needed assurance, he turned off the lamp and sank back on the pillow, determined to have a good night even if it killed him.

Oddly enough, he nodded off without the incessant scratch of too many thoughts.

-  
His eyes snapped open to an assault on his door. 

_Shit!_

Ramrod straight as if he’d been jolted on livewire, Flug could only sit and wait while terror gripped his heart. Had Black Hat caught wind of his presumed time off? Had he come to deal with perceived insolence _personally?_ God only knew the old demon was never afraid to knock a door off its hinges to begin his point. Beyond that, well, Black Hat had ideas of both punishment and entertainment that simply _loved_ to mingle.

“I’m sorry, sir!!” Flug was already catapulting himself out of bed, cussing silently as his legs buckled under him. He toppled almost head over feet, first nearly killing himself to turn on his bedside lamp, and then once more while scrabbling for his lab coat slung over his computer chair. “I-I’ll get right back on it, I’ll get right back to work! I just needed a break, I-I was just resting my eyes – _ahh!_ ”

The assault on his door continued. A grating snarl of claws on wood, while the door bulged like a wooden gut from its frame. Fit to burst into splinters and admit a mad fury from his worst nightmares, he was sure. 

“I-I’m heading right back to the lab now, right away, sir!” He decided to forego his sneakers for now. As it stood, Flug was already in what his father would have called, ‘really deep shit’. “I’m sorry, sir! Never again, sir! Don’t worry, sir! I’m going, sir!”

A sharp clap of thunder from outside shook the windows. In Flug’s mind, there was no such thing as coincidence when it came to omens at Black Hat Manor.

“R-right back, sir! I’m going!” 

He sent his alarm clock one rueful look as he prepared to sprint back down to his lab where he imagined he’d be staying for the next six weeks or so. It was one o’clock. Flug had barely slept a little over an hour.

_Well,_ he figured, _easy come, easy go._

Swallowing with vague hopes to ease his heart back into his chest, Flug fumbled a bit with the door knob before he dared to tug it open…

…only to find a towering wall of blue fur in his way.

A little higher up, and Flug could barely make out the glimmer of terrified eyes staring back down at him. Before he could so much as manage a puzzled splutter, 505’s huge arms clamped around him in a crushing embrace.

Flug felt the nudge of 505’s big wet nose on the side of his paper bag, heard the strained whimper, and sighed as he relaxed at last in the bear’s grip. Still a little annoyed, yes, but he could have been woken by far worse things. As far as he could tell, he’d been lucky this time.

“505…!” he gasped, squirming a little as a few kinks in his spine popped. “Ease up a little, please…! Can’t…! _Breathe…!_ ”

“Rrr…? Rrrm!”

Slowly, however reluctantly, 505 set Flug back down on his feet very gently. The bear shuffled back a step or so, large paws tapping by way of a nervous tic, still whimpering. In the light of the bedside lamp behind him, Flug could see 505’s eyes shining. All his agitation evaporated. 505 certainly hadn’t popped by just to give him a hug; he was terrified, utterly spooked.

As if to answer that unspoken question, 505 started to whine, the throaty keen of a large dog.

Flug gasped to draw precious air back through his aching chest, first. Then he sighed. “Hey, bad dreams, 505?” 

The bear nodded, still whimpering. 

Outside in the whisper of pouring rain, a wink of lightning preceded another peal of hard hitting thunder. 505 yelped as if he’d been stung, fur rising in the kerfuffle while he covered his entire face with his paws. 

Flug shook his head sadly, then patted his creation gently on his side with all the affection reserved for battered kittens. “Come on,” he said in a low, soothing voice. “Come on, 505. Let’s get you some milk, okay?” He squeezed past, motioning for 505 to follow while keeping his tone soft. “Come on…”

“Rrrr…!” 

“Come on, it’s okay, buddy. It’s all right. Come on.”

505 turned where he stood, moving at first with hesitation, before finally lumbering in step behind his allegedly mad creator. 

-

The evil scientist sated the needs of his monstrous creation with a pan of warm milk, fresh off the stove. 

He mixed in a touch of cinnamon and honey, for taste. 505 loved both those things.

“Here you go, just how you like it…”

Flug slid the pan onto the black walnut dinner table where 505 sat, waiting quietly like a good bear. When Flug stepped away, 505 didn’t hesitate to start gulping it down. Within the first couple of swigs, his whimpering finally stopped. 

Despite the situation, Flug chuckled. “Still your favorite even after all this time, huh?”

505 smiled just enough to bare the points of his teeth. “Arrrrrr.” He lapped his tongue happily along his muzzle, licking off any stray droplets. Whatever terror had brought 505 to Flug’s door seemed forgotten with a full stomach, and for a moment, Flug pondered a life on so simple a side of the tracks. He wondered, briefly, what it would be like to sleep in and not have to worry himself sick over drafts and deadlines. He wondered what it would be like if the only lines and numbers that concerned him were the everyday lines and budgets a trip to the bank necessitated. Sometimes Flug truly wondered what he would have found, had things gone another way.

He pondered this, he supposed, with the retrospection that fallen angels might have had before their descent. 

Too little, too late.

Wasn’t that the story of Flug’s life?

Snout deep in his milk, 505 drank with what Flug imagined to be only the taste of honey and cinnamon on his mind. The mere sight of it invited simpler memories, when Flug had been able to cradle 505 in his arms while he held a bottle to the cub’s eager mouth. 

He could remember 505 letting out that pitchy little puppy growl, pawing up his pantleg while Flug prepared that bottle on a pot balanced precariously over a Bunsen burner.

_“Ow! Hey, would you stop that? I can’t cook this any faster, 505! And if I fall behind, neither of us is gonna be happy!”_

He could remember the distinct rip of 505’s tiny claws in his comforter. 505 had decided, instead of sleeping independently in the new bed Flug had bought for him, that he would go ahead and scale the impending mountain of the scientist’s bed. Because come hell or high water, you could bet he was going to get snuggles in. The concept of necessary independence hadn’t meant much to a cub going on half a year old, obviously.

_“No, no! 505, no! Bad boy! You’re supposed to sleep in your basket! You’re getting to be a big bear, now, so you gotta… oh, come on…!”_

505 had growled a sassy response at that before clumsily rolling his way up beside his creator. Big bear or not, Flug had welcomed the growing cub beneath the covers beside him, running absent fingers over the blue fuzz that was slowly conceding into glossy fur. They’d both slept soundly in those early days, Flug recalled. 

He could even remember when 505 was finally as tall as he was, making it a habit to press his nose against the side of his head, trying to sniff out an ear. 

_“505, if you get this wet then I’m gonna have to get a new one! Black Hat docks these out of my pay, you know!”_

Beneath his current paper bag, perhaps his hundredth since those good times, he dared to crack a wry smile. 

“I guess it’d be nice if it was a little easier,” he muttered, before looking up at the giant ball of blue fluff occupying the chair next to him. “But… sometimes it’s worth it. Sometimes certain things, the little things make it worth it.”

“Arr?” 505 turned from his drink and gazed at Flug curiously.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” Flug replied. He patted 505’s arm. “I’m just tired. Just feeling the past couple weeks, that’s all.”

505 frowned, ears flat against his skull. The prized buttercup sprouting out of the bear’s head wilted ever so slightly as he whined his concern. His bottom lip even trembled slightly. “Rrrrr,” came the whimpered apology.

“No, no. Don’t feel bad,” Flug said, chuckling. “Believe me, I don’t mind. You can come to me whenever you need to, 505. I promise, it’s okay.”

“Mm. Rrrmmm…”

“Really. In fact, I think I’m gonna have a little drink myself before going back to bed. It’s okay, 505. Just finish your milk.” Flug stood, crossing the kitchen with a near soundless patter of his bare feet on black and red checkered linoleum. He came back with a glass of water tipped with a straw, and set to sipping alongside his creation. 

Satisfied, 505 licked up the last few drops in the pan. 

Another growling peal of thunder shook the chandelier overhead, sending it swaying with the jangle of plated red crystal. 505 barely contained a cry as he slouched where he was sitting, prompting another groan from the antique chair beneath him. Ordinarily, Black Hat didn’t permit 505 to sit at the dinner table for meals for particularly that reason – well, that as well as not wanting the ‘filthy reeking stench of _do-gooders_ at his table’.

Through the fog of lost sleep and drifting memory, Flug’s brain chose that particular time to recall that Black Hat had a habit of patrolling the house quite regularly during thunderstorms. Dark and stormy nights were among his employer’s favorites, after all.

“We… better head off, 505,” the scientist said nervously, at length. He stood slowly, and 505 mirrored him, his mind having apparently drifted to the same thoughts. “C’mon. Let’s get back to bed, both of us.”

505’s eyes widened. 

Flug was already patting the bear’s arm, his smile hidden well enough but audible in his voice. “Don’t worry, you can crash in my room, okay? We gotta head back. Let’s go.”

The bear was content not to voice any objections there, if he had any. 

It was a long, treacherous journey back to Flug’s room as the deepest of the night drew the mansion in, broken only by the flashing eruptions of the storm.

-

“Ack, 505…! This isn’t…! What I had in mind!”

By ‘this’, the scientist meant being crushed flat as matzah bread against his bedroom wall, blindly groping just to keep from being sandwiched between it and his mattress. The bed’s frame moaned ominously, the box spring gave a plaintive creak.

Trying his hardest not to take up too much space beside him was 505, who first tried rolling from one side to the other, then curling up into as tight a ball as he could, then trying to tuck his legs in beneath Flug’s blankets. He whined, grunted and even growled a bit in annoyance when nothing seemed to work. 

Gasping for air, Flug clawed his fingers and hauled himself up, scaling what felt like his own personal great wall. “505, it’s not…! You don’t fit up here anymore, remember? You haven’t fit up here for a _long_ time…!”

“Rrrrmmm!” 505 sat up at last, thick brows furrowed, his muzzle crinkled with apparent disgust. Flug could practically hear him now, if only he had the capacity for speech: the bed’s the one that doesn’t fit me!

Clambering up beside the bear, Flug gave a slightly winded laugh as he straightened his bag’s crumpled edges. “You’re not a cub anymore, 505,” he said by way of simple explanation. “Maybe it was a bit easier for you to come in here and sleep back then, but you’ve done some, uh…” Upon spying 505’s rather indignant look, Flug chose his next word with some deliberation. “Growing,” he said kindly. “You’ve done a little bit of growing. I’ve got another idea, though, hold on.”

He slid down to his feet and crossed the room, with 505 watching him curiously. 

It didn’t take him too long to find the air mattress in his closet, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d used it (though the dust caked in some of its folds gave him a ballpark figure). Finding the air pump gave him more of a struggle than unfolding the mattress across his floor, and when he finally had it inflated, it was near two in the morning. 

When 505 happily flopped down on his back, Flug found he didn’t mind this at all. In fact, watching 505 settle in somehow left him feeling better than when he’d set out on the venture of a decent night’s sleep to begin with, beaming as 505 turned over and gave his round stomach a pat. Because well, Flug figured, there would probably continue to be nights when 505 would have snuggles, come hell or high water. 

Knowing an invitation when he saw one, Flug carefully climbed up 505’s side, draping his blankets as wide as they would fan out around the two of them. 505 was softer and warmer than his mattress, anyway. As he had concluded in the kitchen, watching 505 contentedly chase away his trouble and recalling a simpler time, it was worth it. 

Flug rested his head against the slow rhythm of 505’s heartbeat. “You ready to go back to sleep, 505?” he asked.

505 gave a grateful grunt, and then gently folded his arms around him. 

Resting his head just so beneath the bear’s muzzle, Flug found that answer enough. “All right. Good night, 505.” 

He drifted with ease to 505’s happy chuffing, sleeping soundly for the first time in months. And even though the two of them would be waking a few hours later to Demencia’s horrified screaming, courtesy of Black Hat, Flug would come to find that he minded the disturbance far less than usual.

**Author's Note:**

> there, now i feel a little less guilty about my last fic >:U
> 
> enjoy the reprieve, flug, it's likely back to hell with you after this.
> 
> any and all attention is appreciated! <3 thanks for reading!


End file.
